


Composing After Hours

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Nothing but Smut! [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Light Dom/sub, Lust, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 12:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2731781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Long nights follow long days at the high school. Mr. Novak spends his evenings composing once all the students are gone and the work is done. He hopes that the music will lull him to sleep . . . little did he know that someone else was listening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Composing After Hours

      Mr. Novak, you could say, was a creature of habit. Once school was finished, he would get to work with all the things that were easier when the students were gone. He would clean, enters grades, call parents and return e-mails; everything that needed more than five seconds of attention. He would begin grading his assignments promptly at 5:30. He would finish grading around 6:15. After that, he would head to the teacher’s lounge for a stale cup of coffee before returning to the choir room to compose. He never claimed himself to be a master composer—he could create something pretty, but he wouldn’t be playing at Carnegie Hall anytime soon. In any event, for the next two hours, Castiel Novak would spend his evening at the piano, intertwining sweet melodies with a fluid cadence that would surely make him want to sleep … at least, that was the hope.

       The janitors had all long since left and the halls were quiet. Castiel hummed a sigh of relief with the realization. Something about the empty school made him relax. Perhaps, it was the fact that no one could hear him, or maybe it was just more peaceful than his house at this time of night. He had moved to this town late last year after he finished his teaching credential, and got a good deal on a place near the local college. Little did he know, around 7:00 p.m., the parties began. That was around the same time his insomnia started. He tried sleeping pills, but they made him too loopy. He tried yoga, meditation, large cups of tea—nothing worked. Once he got the job as the choir teacher at the high school, he began working later and later to avoid going home. Now it was just part of his routine. The only way he might be able to catch some sleep at night … work until he passed out.

       The piano bench felt cool and inviting—the keys, more so. He pulled out his old, tattered pages and set them up on the stand. After a moment, a few number two pencils were lined perfectly along the top of the piano. He never needed that many pencils, he would never compose that much, but he wanted to. The pencils were an inspiration. Someday, he would use all three. _Someday_.

       Once he got settled, he put his fingers to the keys and played out the beginning notes of his song. The sounds hung heavy in the air, floating by his ears on gusts of sadness. The tune filled the room, the halls, every classroom, making it seem like something ominous was about to happen there; as if, the school were part of a movie, and the climax was about to be reached.

       Castiel played and played, and he wrote and he sighed. The song wasn’t coming together tonight. He wanted to feel more accomplished before he packed up to go, but it was nearing 8:00 and he felt like nothing had been done. Worst of all, he still wasn’t tired. He continued trying keys and pumping the pedal … he was determined to create something worthwhile. He pressed on, getting lost in his wrong notes and concentration.

        “It sounds nice, Mr. N.”

       The voice shocked him from his seat. Castiel stumbled off the bench and whipped his body round. Leaning against the door frame, looking perhaps, a little too smug for his own good, was Dean Winchester. Dean was not his favorite student—not by a long shot. The boy always had a snide comment perched on the tip of his tongue. He was always disruptive and missing his ques. He didn’t take music seriously, and that irked Castiel the most. _What eighteen year old doesn’t take music seriously?_ He wondered if it was just about the music he had the students play—but he tried to mix it up. There were days he threw in some more current songs. The rest of the class was appreciative, but not Dean Winchester. No, he continued being rude. He continued being disruptive. Castiel found himself breathing a sigh of relief at the end of fifth period every day, because then the boy would be out of his hair.

        "What are you doing here, Mr. Winchester? You cannot be on school property after hours.”

       The boy remained quiet, looking past his frustrated teacher towards the back of the room where all the horns were lined against the wall. Castiel glared at his student expectantly, but Dean just continued with his stare.

       Castiel narrowed his eyes. “ _Mr. Winchester_?”

       “You ever get freaky with the instruments?” The boy finally blurted with a laugh.

       Castiel’s face contorted in horror. _Where on earth was this boy’s head?_ “That is a highly inappropriate thing to ask—as well as absurd!”

        “ _What_? Just curious. Everyone has their kinks.”

       “Mr. Winchester! You need to stop … you need to go home!”

       The rebellious student finally moved his eyes to Castiel, peeling himself from the door frame, inching closer to the aggravated man at the piano.

       “Why aren’t _you_ at home, Mr. N?” The boy’s eyes seemed dark, darker than their normal, vibrant green. He kept approaching, and Castiel found himself backing towards the edge of the baby grand, until his rear was hitting the keys. A couple of angry, high pitched notes broke the air between them.

       “I-I like to stay late and compose—it-it _doesn’t matter_. I am allowed to be here, _you_ are not. You should really leave … before I have to call someone and get you in trouble.”

       Dean threw up his hands in a mock-defense and finally stopped his progression, halting only a couple feet from Castiel’s sweater-vested front. “Okay, okay, Mr. N. No need to be a hard ass—although, it is kinda _hot_.”

       Castiel squinted his eyes at the boy, before slowly letting them widen with the realization of what he had said. “Wh-what?”

       “When you try to get all authoritative and shit … _it’s hot_. Why do you think I always disrupt class?” Dean took another step into Castiel’s space.

       “I-I …”

       The boy smirked with a slow, deep breath … sliding forward along the tile once more, making Castiel lean back and smash down more keys.

       “When you get angry with me, you always come up and lean in _real close_ —you talk slow and deep … and you stare at me with those damn, blue eyes. I mean, it’s all I can do not to jump you right there with the whole class watching.”

       Castiel’s ears began to burn. His skin got hot and every nerve in his body shook furiously. The blood in his head rushed down, making his face go pale and the rest of him, warm and pink. _What was he saying?_ Castiel couldn’t wrap his head around it, not completely. Was this student coming on to him? Was he really admitting to what he thinks he’s admitting to? Castiel tried to think about what he should do. He tried to think about protocol, all those trainings, who he should be going to, to report this incident—he tried to think about those things, but instead, the thoughts of the boy’s lips plagued his mind. They were pillowy, soft—inviting. They broke open so easily with his words, showing hints of a round, slippery tongue. Castiel stared … he stared and stared. The boy’s lips quivered and Castiel felt himself do the same.

       Dean, reached out his hand a little, drawing a soft line down his teacher’s tense arm. “Mr. N?”

       Castiel snapped out of it for a moment. He tried to collect himself, quickly looking around the room, at the windows, doors—anything to keep his eyes off of Dean Winchester’s mouth.

_“Mr. N?”_

        “You shouldn’t call me that! It’s Mr. Novak” he blurted out, not really sure of what else to say. Dean just smirked at him and moved nearer—every time Castiel spoke, he came closer. The man tried to remind himself to shut up.

       “Yeah, but _Mr. Novak_ sounds too formal … I don’t want to be formal with you.”

       Castiel winced. He wanted to crawl away, he felt himself react; react the exact way he shouldn’t be reacting, not with a student … not with Dean Winchester.

       “Calling me by my full last name is a sign of respect. I would expect that from you, since I show you the same.”

       “Oh, I’m sure there’s a lot you could _show_ me.”

       Dean covered the last bit of space that separated them. Castiel could feel the boy’s breath leave his mouth—he could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. He could see Dean’s strong jaw twitch as he leaned into him, making him smash even more keys, ringing out more, jarring notes. The piano rattled, sending his pencils rolling to the ground.

       “Mr. Winchester, you need …  you need to back away.” Castiel’s voice was shaky and low. It didn’t rumble with the alpha-dominant bass he was hoping for … it tapered. It cracked and shattered—he drew his eyes to the ceiling as Dean’s just looked him up and down.

       “You say that, but something tells me … you don’t want me to back away.” Dean tilted forward, placing his hands on either side of the man—trapping him in, smashing his own group of keys; yet, his accidental notes didn’t seem quite as harsh.

       “I-I do. You have to back away” Castiel hissed to the top of the choir room, the acoustics barely able to catch his meager voice.

       “Then why don’t you look me in the eye and say that?”

        Castiel could feel the boy pushing into him. Dean’s chest was almost flush with his own. He wanted to look down—look across to the tall, fierce student and bellow out a command that would send the boy running. He wanted to match every ounce of confidence, every swaggering glare … but he just trembled, because Dean’s skin was trembling against his own like strings on the neck of a guitar. He couldn’t look down—not while Dean was there, vibrating against him.

       The boy let his head fall forward until his lips were grazing the stubble on Castiel’s chin. “Mr. N?”

       Castiel shut his eyes tight and took a deep breath. “I told you not to call me that …”

       “Okay, well … what’s your first name? The office only ever prints teacher’s first initials on things.” Dean pulled away a little, chuckling to himself. “I know it starts with a C. It’s not something lame like _Carl_ is it? You don’t look like a Carl.”

        Castiel stayed silent—keeping his eyes clasped tight, feeling a little more relaxed now that he couldn’t see the student who was making him violate far too many codes of conduct.

       “No … I don’t think it’s Carl. _Chris_? That would be better—doesn’t seem fitting though.” Dean sounded lighter, and more thoughtful. Castiel thought it was the most thoughtful he has ever heard the boy. It was, probably, the hardest he has ever heard Dean think on something, after all.

       “Maybe something weirder, like Craig … or Craigen. _Curtis?_ It’s not Curtis, is it? That would be just as bad as Carl. Oh! Maybe it’s Cameron! That would be better … Cameron Novak. It still doesn’t sound right but it’s not as lame as Carl or Curtis. I mean—”

       “It’s Castiel! My name is Castiel!” The teacher boomed, cutting the boy off, not wanting to hear any more of his mumbling. It was bad enough Dean was sucking up all the oxygen around his personal space, he didn’t need to inhale the _entire room_. He felt the student crawl in close again. _He should have kept quiet_.

       “Castiel, huh? I knew it was something weird.” Dean huffed out a low, cocky laugh. “That sounds almost more formal than your last name … how about I just call you _Cas_?”

       Castiel finally opened his eyes and looked at the boy—that self-righteous, arrogant, pompous little boy that thought he could just walk in here, ruin his routine, push up against him—flood him with those green eyes, make him think of his lips … those damn lips …

       “Mr. Novak will be fine.” Castiel grumbled, finally feeling his backbone stabilize with his frustration.

       Dean lifted his hand again, walking his fingers up the tight knit of the man’s sweater vest, stopping only when he got to the collar. “Nah … I like _Cas_.”

       Castiel tilted his head in wonder at the student’s boldness. Dean grinned and pushed his face up to the teacher’s, letting his next words tip toe from one set of lips to the other, “You’re so hot when you’re confused … ya’ know that?

       Castiel shuddered, gripping the edge of the piano tight—feeling his knuckles whiten and his fingertips ache. Dean brushed one soft, gliding kiss across his lips before moving back a little.

       “So, _so_ hot.”

       The teacher felt his student slide his hands up to his hips, pulling their waists together—presenting for the first time, the long rigid bulge hiding beneath the boy’s jeans. Castiel felt it push against him—against his own, throbbing cock that was disobeying ever mental order, every attack of will … everything he could muster to try to make it go away. It wouldn’t go. It stayed hard and aching for the boy that was apparently, aching for _him_.

       Dean let a low moan rumble from his throat. “I _knew_ it. I knew you wanted me. I could see it in your eyes. You want this, Cas … you _want_ me.”

       Castiel blacked out the room again, shaking his head, trying to his best to convince himself that the boy was wrong. “No … no  …”

       Dean’s hand slid from the man’s hip, to the belt buckle holding up his teacher’s perfectly pressed slacks. “Yeah … I’ve seen the way you watch me, Cas. I could tell … you _wanted_ me.”

       Castiel felt like he could break the piano, crush it in his vices. He gripped harder and harder. He wanted to tell Dean to stop – only, not as much as his body wanted the boy to continue.

       Dean worked open the man’s belt, flipping the buckle free before getting to work on the button of his pants. He slid his lips along the hard line of Castiel’s jaw, nibbling at the bolt and then sliding down to suck and lick the curves of the man’s neck. “Say it … say it, Cas … say you _want me_.”

       Castiel couldn’t say anything, the boy’s lips were wrecking his spine with chills. His knuckles kept grazing the sensitive skin inches below his navel. Dean’s breath was too hot … his voice was too low. Castiel wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he didn’t want him—that he never noticed him. He wanted to say he never noticed the way his t-shirts clung to his muscles, tightening around his arms whenever Dean folded them, defiantly. He wanted to say he had never noticed the way the boy licks his lips just before one of those snide little quips rolls off his tongue. Castiel wanted to say that when Dean leaves, he doesn’t watch his jeans sag low on his hips, exposing the top brim of his boxers, making the man jolt—making him want to see more, see the rest  … making him want to feel the boy’s strong thighs beneath his palms. Feel his back arch, bringing his chest against his own … Dean’s naked skin on his. He wanted to say none of that had ever crossed his mind; but Castiel was never a good liar.

       “I-I …” Castiel garbled his thoughts leaving only single sounds capable of leaving his mouth.

       “Yeah … say it … say it, Cas” Dean growled into the man’s collar bone, pulling down Castiel’s pants in the process. “All you have to do is say it.”

       Castiel felt Dean yank him forward, pulling his back from the piano and allowing his trousers to drop to the floor. Castiel broke open his eyes with a start, instantly regretting the action as he looked down to see Dean, dropping to his knees below him.

       “Just say it, Cas …”

       Castiel finally let go of the piano with one of his hands, bringing it up to rub it down his face—blinking wildly at the sight beneath him. “Oh my god … oh my god …”

        “Not quite, you can just call me _Dean_.”

       _Smartass._

       Dean slithered his fingers in between the taut fabric of Castiel’s briefs, sliding them slowly down the man’s skin. “So? Do you want me? Do you want me, Cas?” Dean’s eyes danced to the top of his sockets, burning with a dirty, green flame. Another quick tug and Castiel was bouncing free from his underwear, throbbing and purpling the more Dean eyed him. The boy took hold, gripping the base of his teacher’s cock and leaning forward—his lips hovering over the surface of Castiel’s tip. The boy gave him one more, inquisitive stare.

       “Yes …” Castiel breathed, barely letting any sound form in his throat.

       With the words, Dean sucked him down, pulling the teacher in hard with the force of his tongue. Castiel’s knees broke as every last ounce of blood in him rushed to his waist. He sat against the keys of the piano, making Dean giggle around his cock with the loud, crashing sound.  For the next few minutes he sat there—opening and closing his eyes, grunting hard, losing all grasp of right and wrong. He didn’t care. Castiel could care less … Dean was making him not care about anything.

       He relished the look in the boy’s eyes as he grabbed him, pulling him round and shoving him against the front of the piano. Dean’s face was blank at first—shocked at the sudden movement from the man who had been painfully still the last fifteen minutes. Castiel pressed hard into the young, firm chest, working his hands intricately, undressing Dean’s lower half in the matter of seconds. After a few more, the boy’s shirt was gone too. The teacher leaned back and looked the young man up and down, feeling his own hunger burn and roil in his gut. Before him, stood something out of his dreams—the tortured, dirty dreams that always left him a little guilty in the waking hours. He was sure he’d be feeling far worse later on, but he couldn’t think of that now—not while Dean’s cock was hard and pulsing in the still air of the choir room. Castiel licked his lips as a little drop of precum gathered on Dean’s tip. The student was eager to be taught for once, and Castiel knew just the lesson.

       Castiel pushed Dean forward across the bench of piano, running his hands along the soft skin of his back. Dean’s tight, perfect ass was spread out for him, inviting him in—just like his eyes did, just like his mouth did. Everything about the boy called to Castiel, begging the man to ravage him.

       “Fuck! Yes, Cas … bend me over. Fucking take me!” Dean growled, looking back over his shoulder at the blue eyed teacher, ready to wreck him. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this!”

       Castiel spit into his palm before slathering his cock until it was slick and supple. He stepped forward, letting his tip glide into the cleft of Dean’s ass. He felt the boy’s tight hole press against him. Dean was pushing his body back, urging the man to hurry, begging him to come inside. Castiel gripped himself, dancing the head of his cock around the gathered hole, slowly working it open with little shoves. Dean moaned and grunted, reaching beneath himself to stroke his own, delicious cock. Castiel felt his balls tighten at the sight—something about this boy was breaking him in half. He could have been mad if he wasn’t so damn, turned on. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

       He gave another little thrust and his head slid into Dean’s entrance. The boy hissed with the pressure and Castiel stopped, suddenly worried that he might have been hurting him. Dean responded with another push, letting himself caress further along Castiel’s shaft, pulling him in. The man moaned—Dean was tightening his muscles around him. The student was gripping his teacher hard and rocking back and forth, fucking himself on Castiel’s rigid cock. The man bent forward, nearly lying across Dean’s back. He ran his hands over the boy’s shoulder blades and down his flexing arms—eventually allowing one hand to meet beneath the his body, where Dean was still stroking himself into a sticky mess. Castiel licked up the boy’s spine—gliding his hands over his slippery fingers, urging Dean to let him take over. Dean shuddered and moaned, relinquishing his hold and letting his teacher instruct. Castiel grinned with his student’s obedience. He began stroking him—feeling Dean shiver and quake beneath his weight. Castiel rolled his hips back and forth, sliding in and out of the young man’s clenching hole.

       “Fuck! Yes, Cas! Fuck me …  keep fucking me!”

       Dean’s words were low, gravely. He caught a glimpse of the green rage as the boy peered back at him. The look nearly sent him over the edge. Castiel threw out his free hand, smashing it against the keys—letting out more jumbles of notes to marry the raucous grunts and curses that were escaping their lips.

       “You like fucking me, don’t you Cas? You like it?”

       Castiel smashed the keys harder, for once, loving the sound of chaos in the air.

       “Say it Cas. I need to hear you say it!” Dean moaned loud, gripping the bench tight as Castiel thrust into him harder and pulled at the boy’s eager, young cock, faster and faster—he wouldn’t let up. Neither of them would. Castiel needed to keep railing into his student … showing him every lesson he still had yet to learn. Dean kept begging for the knowledge, wanting to hear Castiel as much as he was feeling him—he _needed_ to hear the man’s guttural voice in his ear.

       “Fuck, Cas .  . . I’m so close. Say it! Please, _say it_.”

       Dean clenched tight around him, rocking back hard onto his cock—Castiel let out a growl, before pounding the keys and biting at Dean’s shoulder. “Yes! I _love_ fucking you …  I have wanted to for so long …”

       Dean finally gasped and shook hard beneath him.

       “You feel so good, better than I could have imagined, Dean … _god,_ you feel so good.”

        His student arched, pushing him up with a lurch. His young body shook and twisted as he spilled out over Castiel’s knuckles. The warmth and stick dripped down to the piano bench, looking as black and white as the keys. Castiel pressed his weight down onto Dean, finding the challenge in holding the boy down as he made him lose control, more arousing than anything. He felt himself throb inside the tight space Dean was letting him fill. Castiel thrust harder, pounding his hips into Dean’s ass, finally breaking over him as waves of hot cum filled the student up from within. Castiel twitched with each gust, feeling a cold sweat start to gather on his brow. His body suddenly got heavy with the weight of the world. Gravity was forcing his eyelids down. If he wouldn’t have crushed the boy, Castiel could have fallen asleep right there. As his body finally calmed, he heard Dean start to chuckle beneath him. Castiel collected the tendrils of strength that were strewn about his limbs, peeling himself off—his mind, still fogged over from his release. He cocked his head to the side tiredly as Dean looked over his shoulder at him once more.

       “What’s so funny?” Castiel asked, barely recognizing the boulders in his voice.

       Dean’s eyes glimmered with the same devilish glint that the teacher has always known, even though the boy’s skin looked heavy with sweat “Nothing—just, out of all the sounds I’ve heard in here … you cumming inside me has to be my favorite.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me


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